


Exchanges

by inelegantly (Lir)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cock & Ball Torture, F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Missing Scene, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Riding, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/pseuds/inelegantly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"What do I want?" he echoes, feigning surprise. It's a poor act – she can see the way his smile only ticks wider, doesn't miss the momentary flash of white teeth before his eyelids flutter with the pleasure of closing in on his prize. "I want to fight you."</i>
</p>
<p>Biscuit isn't interested in a fight to the death, but there is something else she'd like Hisoka to do for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exchanges

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the brand new [hunter x hunter kink meme](http://hxh-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/653.html), for which the prompt was requesting femdom, "Can involve either form of Bisky topping Hisoka. The kinkier it gets, the better (BDSM elements very welcome)."

-

Biscuit notices the presence tailing her not a block out of her hotel. It's hardly difficult – she would be remiss in her discipline as a nen practitioner not to notice that concentrated spot of murderous intent lingering on her periphery like one lone storm cloud marring a summer's day. Nevertheless, she chooses to ignore it. 

It isn't that she considers her pursuer to be less than a threat. It's simply the case that she recognizes the particular quality of his aura, and a little attention from a gentleman caller hardly seems like a reason to deviate from her morning plans. She proceeds to the little cafe down the block for breakfast entirely as she had intended, patiently pretending she doesn't see the broad-chested man lingering across the street, watching her with those low-lidded bedroom eyes. 

Hisoka's hair is meticulously styled, this time, and he's fully and unmistakably dressed, but he's no less handsome than the first time Biscuit laid eyes on him. She deems the attention flattering. 

He has enough manners to linger almost a block behind her, as she makes her way to the city's open-air market. After spending so much time in Greed Island, it's her first opportunity to squeeze a little shopping back into her daily routine. Her sharp eye slides over clothes and ceramics and numerous other niceties, lingers on dangling pendants and heaped-up stacks of shiny bangles. None of the jewelry is quite to her taste, and the gems she ferrets out are lackluster. When she fails to make a single purchase, she chalks the downturn in her luck up to her unkind little shadow. 

Every time she turns her head just enough to catch sight of him, lingering outside some other booth or touching the sleeve of some silky dress left on display, he's wearing that same patient smile. He handles the wares in the market with a casual delicacy, and Biscuit can't help but think that a few shining rings would not be out of place on his long, agile fingers. He's charming, watched from afar. She still can't deduce what he wants from her. 

For her part, she's had quite enough of the bustle of the city and the press of the crowds. At the same leisurely pace she's stuck to all along, Biscuit begins the roundabout stroll back to her hotel. It's the nicest in the city, of course – nothing save the best for a woman of her means – and the doorman outside greets her with a nod of his head and the faint sketch of a bow. She doesn't move past him. Ignoring the door he's held open for her, she turns instead to face the street with a scowl. 

"If you're going to trouble a girl, at least come and say how do you do," she says. "Otherwise people might start to get the wrong idea." 

Hisoka is still standing half a block down the street, but he hears every word and offers a bright chuckle as his only response. His walk is more of a saunter than a stroll, each slow step taken with a predator's grace, but they both know Biscuit is of the same breed. He won't intimidate her through such amateurish tactics. 

"I didn't know this was a courtship," he says, coy and smiling. "I didn't want to sully your reputation. I've been very sure to keep my distance." 

He's toying with her, but he does it so glibly. She doesn't believe his deflections for a second. "You've still been following me. Go ahead – what do you want?" 

"What do I want?" he echoes, feigning surprise. It's a poor act – she can see the way his smile only ticks wider, doesn't miss the momentary flash of white teeth before his eyelids flutter with the pleasure of closing in on his prize. "I want to fight you." 

"I'm not interested," Biscuit says, cutting him off without hesitation. 

"Oh, don't say that," he croons, the lament coming out on the slow exhale of a moan. "I've seen what you're capable of. Show me the body you use to seal other men's defeat, I want to experience first hand what it's like when you get serious!" 

Biscuit can read the truth between the lines of his lies, can parse out the challenge issued beneath his pretty words. It's a fight to the death he wants, his thirst for violence so great she can nearly feel it parch her own tongue. She knows better than to offer herself up as appeasement to that bloodlust without the proper care.

She has already refused him, but it isn't true that Hisoka has nothing of value to offer her. 

"We'll make a bargain," she says, holding up one finger to punctuate her point. "If you prove to me that you've earned it, I'll consider fighting you. But you have to do exactly as I say!" 

Hisoka hums to himself, that same tricky smile playing about his lips like he's looking for the trap, looking for the loophole that will allow him to outsmart her. If he refuses, that is his own loss – she has said "yes" now, however conditionally, and if he fails to accept the offer that only means he's thwarted himself.

Biscuit knows he sees the thin wisp of aura spooling from her finger, spelling out "bedroom" in cursive script, when he nods his head demurely and strolls past her into the hotel. 

The doorman looks at her in surprise, when she follows a few steps after Hisoka, walking at last through the door he'd continued to hold open. She flashes him an innocent little smile and skips to the elevator bank, her steps nevertheless slow as they carry her across the hotel lobby. Hisoka is waiting inside when she steps through the elevator doors, his finger pressed to the button to hold the door. She bids him press the key for the highest floor. 

"Is there something in particular you want?" he asks, as the doors smoothly slide closed behind her and the elevator begins to ascend. 

She seizes him up, gaze dragging lightly over the hard shapes of his biceps, over the prim inward tuck of his narrow waist. His clothing is hardly what she would consider flattering, but it can't entirely conceal the shape of him underneath it. She remembers his silhouette from Greed Island, his well-muscled thighs and flat, defined abs, the sharp lines of his hipbones leading her eye right to the crux of his legs. She lets her eyes travel down to the points of his shoes before ascending back to stare him right in the face, making him wait for her answer. 

"Yes," Biscuit says, right before the elevator doors open onto her floor. 

She steps out into the hall with every confidence that he'll follow her. He's still radiating malicious intent like some noxious odor, like the outwardly-swirling vortex of a hurricane, and with her deceptively safe at the eye of the storm. She _isn't_ safe with him and she won't forget that. But she has something he wants, and she trusts that she has leverage enough. Her fingers are perfectly deft as she swipes her key through the door lock, and lets Hisoka into her hotel room. 

She makes sure he goes first, so that she can pull the door to behind them, so that she can quietly, decisively turn the lock. 

"Take off your clothes," she says, in that bright, little-girl voice she's perfected for swindling fools. "And kneel on the floor." 

Her hands fall to her hips as she turns from the door, posture stern enough to defy her diminutive stature. Hisoka stares her down for a moment, standing in the middle of the entranceway to her suite, like he's considering defying her. The challenge of him is enough to excite _her,_ enough to coax her into backing the command with her aura if not with the sternness of her voice.

Hisoka breathes out at the pressure, a high, nasal sigh that makes his eyelids flutter, and he drops to his knees on the thick carpet with an acrobat's fluid grace. Biscuit walks over him, each step measured and precise, and slides one palm against his angular cheek. Her fingers twist up into his hair, and she pulls his head back. 

"I said take off your clothes," she reminds him, still bright, clearly scolding, "and _then_ kneel on the floor."

"Oh," he hums out, the sound stretching to vibrate through his throat. "I didn't understand." 

He doesn't tell her that he's sorry, and she doesn't tell him that it's okay. She lets her brows arch up instead in innocent expression of surprise, before lifting her foot to drop the front of her shoe right into Hisoka's lap. Her toes grind the sole into his groin until he lets loose all the air from his lungs in a long, anguished groan. 

Even with the sharp edge of arousal straining his voice, it's the slight catch of pain that has her smiling in satisfaction. Biscuit has gathered what he likes; the promise of hurting him will serve her as both punishment and reward to keep him in line. 

"Let's try harder this time," she says, not removing the weight of her foot. 

His hands move swiftly, reaching for the hem of his overshirt, pulling it smoothly up and over his head so that the narrow neckline hardly even ruffles his hair. He drops it to the floor on his right. There's a kind of corsetry underneath, some tight, clingy fabric pulled snug around his midsection, and his agile fingers hover in front of his stomach even as his eyes stay locked on Biscuit's face. 

It could be a question. She takes it as another challenge. Her hands reach out and tuck into the top of his compression shirt, adding only the lightest application of aura as she rips it from his sternum down to his navel. The way the fabric gives under her hands is almost as satisfying as his little breath in, that audible huff of air serving as better proof of his caught-fly interest than any pretty verbal promise ever would. 

Biscuit's hands splay across his chest as the cloth falls away, and she gives her own low hum of approval. 

"Do you want to take these off?" she asks, rolling her ankle so her foot rocks in his lap. 

"Do you want me to?" he asks right back, bypassing the opportunity to take back even that small measure of control. 

Biscuit doesn't miss the way his knees edge open subtly wider, and that's it, she's got him. He's no longer thinking of a far-off future fight, of the reward his actions will earn – he's focused on the sound of her voice and the careful force from her hands. Her aura has blossomed into a warm wreath of intention, wrapping around them with heavy promise. 

It must be close enough to what he wanted, having that much of her focus narrowed deadly-precise on him. 

"Yes," she says, but not before giving a last roll of her heel, not before noting the stiffness of the shape underneath the weight of her foot. 

She steps back, and he slips away, toeing off his shoes before sliding his pants from his hips. All of his clothes he pushes to the side, careless and abrupt with the sweep of his foot, and then he's naked on his knees just as she'd said. 

"Much better," Biscuit croons, as she reaches to give his cheek a condescending pat. 

One sly glance down confirms that he's as hard as she thought, the pretty jutting of his cock far more tempting than when she'd seen him before. She nudges her toe up against its underside, follows the length of him with just enough pressure to pin the head against his stomach with the point of her shoe. 

"Do you want to crush me?" he asks her, voice a low purr. 

_Yes,_ she thinks, but she doesn't tell him that. She's not the only one exerting pressure – his bloodlust is still there, penned in and only poorly restrained, but with the spike of her heel hovering over his balls, she can't bring herself to truly experience concern. If she pushes hard enough, he'll snap back, but she's ready to toe that line with a smile. 

"Not more than you can take," she says, grinding her foot back and forth just under the head of his cock. "And you can take a lot, can't you?" 

That earns her another drawn-out groan, throatier, louder, and it's no mystery that he's wound wire-taut. His fingers flutter at his sides, a little tremble like he wants to grab something, like maybe he wants to close his hand around her ankle and yank her foot down with greater force. She laughs, and steps back altogether. 

"That's what you want," she says, as she starts to pull her own top over her head, as she smoothly steps out of her skirt. Her bloomers puff around her hips without it, before she slides those down as well, efficiently strips until she's standing only in a loose pink camisole. "But I want you to service me instead." 

She steps in to him, her fingers sliding back into his hair like she's worried he'll pull away. He won't. He'll take whatever challenge is given him, will rise to any occasion that necessitates he prove himself. He's overconfident. She drags his face down toward the joining of her thighs, grinds his nose into the fine curls of fair hair, taunts him silently to prove that his confidence is equal to the task she has set for him. 

His tongue is hot when it feathers against her, followed by a sharp exhale of his breath that has her tightening her fingers all the more closely against the nape of his neck. There's no retreat offered. She lets him fall to licking, sucking, to working the point of his tongue up into her until she remembers how it looks when he licks his lips, the image flashing against the back of her eyelids in vivid highlight of just how long and flexible his tongue happens to be. She rides his face until even she starts to tremble, little shivers of reaction that shake all the way down her legs to make her ankles go weak in her heels. 

She pulls him away. 

"Get on the bed," she says, voice rougher than with any previous command. "Get on your back on the bed." 

The door is right over Hisoka's shoulder, and even with his eyes glazed the way they are, he sees the direction she's looking in. His chin is glazed too, slick with his spit and her juices, and the hot ache between her legs has not begun to abate even with the pause. She lets go of him and he's quick to his feet, through the open doorway with just a brief flash of his sculpted backside offered for her prurient enjoyment. 

He's right where she ordered when she comes in after him. 

She's light onto the bed, putting a knee up and then kneeling over him, her legs spread as she leans over his waist. He's up on his elbows, making those bedroom eyes at her that now only tempt her to shove him down into the mattress, and she grasps his cock with a grip far too tight to be comfortable. He gasps sharply, high and pleased, and she squeezes her fist tighter. 

"Go on," he croons, his eyes starting to roll up, his fingers curling in against the sheets. 

She digs her thumb in just under the head, drags her nails roughly over him when she strokes him once, twice in preamble, but then she's hovering over him and there's no more time to delay. She sinks her hips down and fills herself up, dainty even as she drops onto his cock. The stretch of it is perfect, makes her purr like she's just found the shiniest of all forbidden, hidden gems. 

He's no shining sapphire, no diamond either for all that the hard heat of him makes her ache in pleased reaction. He's a twisted thing, ugly, and she the one to find the use of him. She starts to rise, smooth as she pulls herself up before shoving back down, building into a quick rhythm that does justice to the strength of her other form. The heat builds low behind her navel until she tilts her chin up, rocking fluidly with little regard for the man lying underneath her. 

"Don't finish!" she bursts out suddenly, as if remembering all at once that she's riding a person with limitations, rather than a docile toy. She leans forward, her chin tipping back down and her expression swirling with absolute menace. "Don't you dare come until I'm through with you." 

For a moment, his face lights up with electric surprise, with the rising tide of a challenge coming hard on its heels. Then his elbows fold and his shoulders drop, spreading him flat on the bed underneath her. Biscuit laughs, high and clear, near-cackling her triumph to the aura-choked air. 

Her thighs tense and her hips roll, her hands gripping against Hisoka's shoulders for leverage. There's a tension coiling in her gut, a molten heat pouring down her spine, and her muscles tense and flutter tightly around him. She goes until she's panting, her chest lightly heaving, her pace not abating in the slightest until she throws her head back with a joyous little cry. Her spine curves into a lovely arc, before all the tension melts slowly from her frame, her thighs still trembling where they grip around Hisoka. 

She maintains her seat until she comes all the way down. 

With a deep, exultant breath in, she pulls herself off of Hisoka, dropping lightly to sit on the bed. He's still hard, when she drops him a curious glance, and that drags from her throat another delighted chime of a laugh. She reaches out, pats his sticky erection roughly on the shaft. The press of his aura is thick enough to choke, but she's breathing light and free. 

"I'm not taking care of that," she says, as she hops off the bed. She glances back from the shelter of the bathroom doorway. "If you'll show yourself out, I need a shower." 

She says nothing of whether he's earned his fight, not with the agony of his bloodlust still etched sharply into his face, but if he challenges her again now, she's confident who will emerge the victor. 

-

-


End file.
